


There's No Way to Make This Easy

by oldjosjos



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Death, M/M, One Shot, hard angst, there's a whole lot of characters but not many major appearances so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-30 17:01:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12657714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldjosjos/pseuds/oldjosjos
Summary: Y'know, with the kind of life he lead, you shouldn't be surprised.Nate finally gets the wrong end of a raider. It's hard for everyone involved. Hancock especially.





	There's No Way to Make This Easy

**An empty road, southeast of Concord,**

 

You’ve walked 5 steps, you can walk 5 more. Or at least you can tell yourself that if you think it’ll give you the strength to stay on your feet. 

 

It’s wishful thinking. Your wounds aren’t the type that can be overcome by affirmations alone.

 

You thought you’d walked this road enough to keep it safe, but you’d just been avoiding the rough spots. You got rusty. Rusty enough that some jethead raider with a tire iron was enough to take you to your knees.

 

You had the gall to think you could walk from Goodneighbor to Sanctuary with only four stimpaks and your 10mm. That’s more than a mistake. That’s a grievous oversight.

 

So here you are, with just enough blood to stay on your feet, rads enough to turn you ghoul, and nothing to fix it. It looks pretty grim, doesn’t it? So what’re you gonna do?

 

Well, you walked 5 steps, so you can walk 5 more, right?

 

Fat chance.

 

Your knees buckle under you, you feel your heart catch, and you’re out before you hit the ground.  
  


 

**Elsewhere, but not too far off,**

 

Trudy stands at her counter in the shell of the Drumlin Diner, hawking goods to the few who pass by. She raises her pistol when she hears a thump outside.

 

“Patrick, what the hell was that?” She says, eyeing up the windows.

 

Her son stands up, disaffected by her paranoia. “I don’t know, but if it’s not coming at us, it’s not worth waving your gun at,” he says through a yawn.

 

Trudy furrows her brow. “Are you just gonna stand there?” she says. “Go check outside! I shouldn’t have to tell you that.”

 

Patrick sighs. “Whatever you want.” He grabs a pistol of his own and peeks around the door. You can pinpoint the moment where his annoyance turns to alarm and concern.

 

“Ma, it’s the vault dweller,” he says, “and he doesn’t look too good.”

 

Trudy lowers her gun, a similar concerned look on her face. “Hancock’s partner? That vault dweller?”

 

“I don’t know any others,” Patrick says, “Ma, we gotta see if he’s okay.”

 

Trudy practically jumps over the counter. “Oh, you don’t have to tell me twice.”

  
  


**Back on the empty road,**

 

Wastelanders are selfish creatures, but Nate is an exception. Trudy and Patrick learned this firsthand, after he struck down the chem dealer who tried to kill them both. It’s time for them to return the favor.

 

Patrick rolls him on his back and Trudy rests his head in her lap. They know going in that there isn’t much they can do. They’re far from doctors, and they don't have supplies to spare. But it doesn’t take a doctor to see that he’s more than a little banged up. His skin is pale and clammy, his mouth is lined with blood, and he's staring somewhere only he can see. This is well above their pay grade.

 

“We need to get him back to Goodneighbor. We need to get him to Hancock,” Patrick says. You can hear his panic building.

 

“We do. But we can’t,” Trudy says. “He’s not walking to Goodneighbor, and we can't carry him all the way there.”

 

“Well, Trashcan Carla’s passing through Sanctuary, isn’t she?” Patrick says. “If we ask her real nice, we could hitch a ride on her brahmin.”

 

Trudy nods. “It’s the best chance we’ve got,” she says. “Sanctuary ain’t close, but it ain’t far. We can get him there on our own.”

 

Patrick grabs Nate’s legs, and Trudy grabs his arms, and they head to Sanctuary.

  
  


**Some time later in a war ravaged suburb,**

 

“You didn’t tell me we had more traders coming through, Preston,” Sturges says from the workbench.

 

Preston looks towards the horizon and raises his rifle. “We don’t.”

 

He inches towards the strangers in the distance, ready to fire. He lowers his gun when he recognizes Trudy and Patrick, and he drops it altogether when he sees General Nate limp in their grasp.

 

“Jesus, what happened?” Preston says. 

 

Patrick and Trudy set Nate on the ground with aching arms. “We found him outside the Diner. All we can tell is he’s hurt something awful, and he needs to get back home,” Trudy explains.

 

“Of course. He needs a doctor yesterday,” Preston says, crouching beside Nate. He looks up to Trudy and Patrick. “What can the Minutemen do to help?”

 

“Like I said, we do need to get him back to Goodneighbor,” Trudy says. “Carrying him here was hard enough. I don’t think we could carry him all the way there, even with your help.”

 

“But,” Patrick says. “A brahmin might be just what we need to get him on the road.” He points behind him to Carla. “Maybe her’s would do the trick?”

 

Preston glances at Carla and makes a face. “I don’t know if she’ll let us, but God knows I'll try.”

 

It takes about 300 caps, but Carla does let them borrow her brahmin. As long as she gets to guard it.

 

“I don’t trust people with my stock,” Carla says as she offloads supplies to make room for Nate. “So I’m only dropping off what my pay covers. If anything happens to this stuff, one’s going between your eyes.”

 

“Alright, Carla,” Preston says, watching the growing stack of junk. “Thank you again.”

 

“Keep your shirt on, minuteman,” she says. Once there's enough space on the saddle, Preston and Sturges hoist Nate up. The way his head hangs limp makes Preston sick.

 

Trudy joins up with Carla, while Patrick goes back home to watch the shop. Before they head out, Trudy gives Preston a thank you and a firm handshake.

 

It’s been said before, and it’ll be said again here: Thank God for the Minutemen. No one would’ve gone this far to help another wastelander. No one would be giving out their supplies and well wishes. No one but the Minutemen would be that kind.

 

And as the sun sets, they watch Nate slip over the horizon, on the long road to Goodneighbor.

  
  


**On a brahmin’s back, somewhere in no man’s land,**

 

They put a thick blanket on you, and the sun’s beating down hard, but you’re still cold. Too cold to think straight. Your heart skips a beat, and you’re terrified, and you want to scream. But then you realize you’re okay, and you slip back into a calm place. It almost feels like you’re not there anymore.

 

But then you get too calm, and your heart skips, and you’re scared again. 

 

Your breath catches in your throat like a plug, and Trudy looks at you all nervous. You’d tell her it would be okay if your mouth could form the words.

  
  


**At the gates of a criminal city,**

 

Fahrenheit considers herself a step above neighborhood watch duties, but understaffing is understaffing, and if Hancock tells her to do some rounds, she’ll do them.

 

Outside the Goodneighbor wall, she hears a plodding walk and a tired moo. She sighs. Traders never learn, do they?

 

She knocks on the wall to get the attention of whoever’s out there. “You won’t fit that brahmin through the gate. Go trade somewhere else,” she says.

 

The unknown person knocks back harder. “This is important, we need help out here!” They yell. 

 

Fahrenheit's annoyed, but, she knows Hancock would lose it if something went wrong out there and Goodneighbor stood idly by. “Alright, I’m coming,” she says. “But it better be goddamn important.”

 

“Thank you, thank you so much,” Trudy says, but by now, Fahrenheit isn’t listening.

 

She raises her weapon as she cracks the door open. It only takes her a moment to realize how dire the situation really is. 

 

Trashcan Carla stands disinterested next to her brahmin, alongside a panicked old lady. On top of the brahmin is Nate, Hancock’s husband, looking damn near dead.

 

“What the hell did you do?” She shouts at the women.

 

“Hey, I didn’t do nothing,” Carla says, lighting a cigarette, “she just borrowed my brahmin to get him here.”

 

“And I found him outside my shop. He’s barely been awake, and I don’t know what happened, but he’s hurt,” Trudy interjects. She backs away as Fahrenheit jumps up, pulling Nate off the saddle and into her arms. She nearly buckles under his weight, and Trudy rushes in to help.

 

“We’ll get him in the State House and see what Mayor Hancock wants from there. Understood?” Fahrenheit says to Trudy. Trudy nods. “And Carla, you stay out here in case we need to go out of town for help.”

 

Carla takes a drag and shrugs. “Sure, I’ll hang around.”

 

“You better,” Fahrenheit grumbles. With that, she and Trudy head to the Old State House.

  
  


**A place you know very well,**

 

In a moment of lucidity, you’re grateful that Fahrenheit kept the blanket pulled around you. It doesn’t help much with the cold, but it’s better than nothing.

 

Even though you can barely keep your eyes open, you see a couple of defined faces. Daisy looks surprised, then shakes her head and goes back to work. Some drifters recognize you and grimace. The neighborhood watchmen guarding KL-E-0’s store whisper to each other, uneasy. But more telling than the sights are the sounds.

 

Nothing. Goodneighbor is rarely—if ever—quiet.

 

Today, it’s silent.

  
  


**Halfway up a spiral staircase,**

 

The watchmen inside the State House are somewhat more proactive than those outside. Half of them run around Fahrenheit and Trudy trying to figure out what to do with their hands, while the other half go running for Hancock.

 

Hancock groggily opens the doors to his office. There’s jet still in his hand, and the light makes him squint, but he seems to immediately know what’s wrong, like a sixth sense.

 

He pushes through the armed guards, towards the stairs. “Oh, no,” he says, his voice surprisingly calm and controlled. “This ain’t good at all.”

 

One watchman drags out a spare mattress and places it at the top of the stairs. With a struggle, Fahrenheit and Trudy gently place Nate on the bed.

 

Hancock refuses to break down, but he's clearly hurting. You can see it in the way his hands shake, and how tight his jaw is clenched. How he sits like the weight of the world is pulling him down. Try as he might to seem okay, his body gives him away in an instant.

 

He’s hesitant to touch Nate, but at the same time, he can’t just stare at him. He awkwardly reaches out and brushes the back of his hand against Nate’s cheek. Soon, against all better judgement, Hancock has Nate in his arms, holding his head to his chest.

 

“I never should’ve let you go out there like that. This one’s on me,” he mutters, “I should’ve come with you, I could’ve helped. This didn’t have to happen.”

 

The room grows tense. Wordlessly, the neighborhood watchman return to their respective positions. 

 

When Hancock’s muttering turns to silence, Fahrenheit and Trudy explain the situation.

 

“My son and I found him outside our shop,” Trudy says. “I don’t know what happened. Nobody was nearby, and he hasn’t said a word.”

 

Fahrenheit interjects. “Trashcan Carla lent her brahmin to get him back here. She’s standing by in case we need to find help out of town,” She pauses, “And I hope we don’t.”

 

Hancock nods. “We’ll make do with what we’ve got,” he says. He turns back to Nate. “And we’ll fix this.”

 

**In the arms of a frightened man,**

 

For the first time in hours, you feel warm again.

 

You can’t see his face, but you can feel his scarred hands against your body. His heart is pounding, and there’s a shiver when he breathes. He clings to you like a childhood blanket. Like something he never wants to give up. 

 

You feel safe.

 

“Promise me you’re gonna get better,” he says. You can tell he doesn’t expect a response. It takes everything in your power to prove him wrong.

 

“Okay,” you say, your voice barely a whisper. Those two syllables exhaust you, but the spark that fills the room when you speak is worth it.

 

Things cool down after some time. Trudy heads back to the Diner, and Fahrenheit runs to grab Doctor Amari. Finally alone, Hancock touches his forehead to yours.

 

“I’d be gone if it weren’t for you,” he says quietly.

 

You’d say ditto if you weren’t so damn tired. Instead, you shift your weight into him and nuzzle against his chest. There’s a feeling of comfort and love between you that doesn’t need words.

 

When you drift away to sleep, there’s almost a smile on your face.

  
  


**A makeshift examination room,**

 

“This isn’t fucking working,” Hancock grumbles.

 

Doctor Amari glares at him. “When did I say it would? I told you, this is a lot bigger than stimpaks and radaway and antiseptic, and that’s all I have. I am a doctor, yes, but he needs a surgeon. This is above my pay grade, and I never once told you otherwise.” She’s not yelling, but she’s certainly not using her inside voice.

 

“I know, I know,” Hancock says. He sighs. “It’s just hard to see him like this. And harder not being able to fix it on my own.”

 

“I understand,” she says, with a pause. “Now, about your options. The only reputable surgeon I know of is Doctor Sun in Diamond City.”

 

Hancock cringes at the mention of that dreadful town. Amari nods. “I understand your issue with the place. Ghouls—and, well, you in particular—aren’t really welcome there. But,” she lowers her voice and leans in close, “if you’d like him to come out of this, I’d suggest making your way there rather soon.”

 

Hancock’s face visibly shifts. You can practically see the lump in his throat. He glances at Fahrenheit. “Carla’s still parked outside, right?” 

 

“If she’s not, I’ll find her and leave her pulp behind,” she growls, determination on her face. She runs downstairs before Hancock can ask her to.

 

There’s a long pause before anyone speaks again. “We should probably start getting him downstairs,” Hancock says after a deep breath.

 

Amari nods. “Alright, I’ll help.”

 

Together, they carry Nate down the spiral staircase and out the door. Fahrenheit is holding the gate open for them, shifting anxiously in her boots.

 

Nate doesn’t wake up the whole way through, and it ties a knot in Hancock’s stomach.

 

**Same shit, different road,**

 

Fahrenheit leads at the front of the Brahmin. You can hardly see her from where you’re laid up, but you can tell that she's ready to kill anyone who looks at you wrong. Carla walks to the left of you, looking disinterested, if not a little impatient. Hancock walks on the right.

 

It feels so good to be close to him again, though you can’t say your body’s feeling any better. If anything, the chems Dr. Amari pumped you with made it worse. But everything feels better with him around. 

 

When you cough or shudder or gasp, he reaches up and squeezes your hand. It’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

 

The road’s starting to wear on you. This trip would usually be nothing, but of course it's harder when your body's falling apart.

 

You just need to hold out. Diamond City isn’t too far at all. And once you’re there, they’ll fix you right up.

 

Keep saying that. Maybe you’ll start to believe it.

 

**Basically hell on Earth,**

 

As soon as they enter the gates, someone’s yelling at them. 

 

“Hey, no ghouls in Diamond City!” A faceless guard shouts at the entrance. The other raises his gun.

 

“C’mon, we’re just looking to trade. I’ve got plenty worth buying,” Carla says.

 

“You call that trade?” The guard says, motioning to Nate. “Because we don't exactly condone human trafficking,” he glares at Hancock. "Though I wouldn't put it past you."

 

Hancock lets the insult roll off his back. “What if I tell you we’re in need of urgent medical attention?” He says.

 

The guard is unmoved. “I’ll tell you that you and your posse aren’t welcome and you should leave while you still can,” the officer growls. Hancock is fuming.

 

“What if  _ I _ tell you I’ve got some caps on the line for whoever gets over themselves and lets us in?” Carla says.

 

“I have more integrity than to—” one guard begins. He’s cut off by his partner.

 

“How much?” The guard asks.

 

“250,” Carla says.

 

“I think you’re devaluing me.”

 

“I think you’re devaluing a goddamn human life!” Hancock shouts. Carla raises her hand in his face.

 

“300. I’m not going any higher,” she says.

 

“Eh, you’ve got my pity,” the guard says, “and a deal.”

 

“If you really pitied us you wouldn’t make us beg,” Fahrenheit mutters while Carla hands over the caps. Luckily, security misses the remark.

 

Carla glances up the stairs, then at Hancock and Fahrenheit. “I’m not getting her up there,” Carla says, patting her brahmin, “so I’ll wait outside. In case you need me to lug his body out.”

 

Hancock waves his hand at her. “We don’t need to be talking like that.”

 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Carla says.

 

As they drag Nate upstairs, one of the guards turns back to them.

 

“Don’t go getting yourself in any trouble, ‘Mayor’ Hancock. We’ll be on your ass in a second, I swear,” the guard says.

 

Hancock stares daggers at him. “You know what,” he begins, but the words trail off in his head. He’s too exhausted to rant and rage at this little prick. “Just go fuck yourself, alright?”

  
  


**Inside the home of your last hope,**

 

You can’t remember the last time you came to Diamond City, but you’re far from forgotten.

 

Nat’s hawking papers while Piper tinkers with the old printing press. Their eyes widen when they see you.

 

“Jeez, blue,” She says. “What’d ya do this time?”

 

They prop you up against the back wall of Dr. Sun’s “clinic”, and at this point things are starting to blur. Your ears are ringing and the lights seem brighter. You’re exhausted.

 

A crowd forms, and you hear some merchants using you as a sales tactic. “That’s how you’re gonna look if you don’t arm yourself!” They say. “I’m sure he wishes he’d bought some stimpaks before heading out!”

 

“Fucking assholes,” Hancock mutters. “Fucking leeches.” He’s holding your head up while the doctor examines you.

 

Speaking of the examination: Jesus Christ it hurts. The poking and prodding almost feels sadistic. It’s enough to make you scream more than once, and that’s the most sound you’ve made all day. Hancock wipes a few tears from your eyes that you didn’t even notice. 

 

The jab he takes at your ribcage tips you over the edge. You’d been running on fumes before, but now you were truly empty. You pass out. Your body simply refuses to suffer any longer and you’re powerless to stop it.

 

**The exact point where everything gets worse,**

 

Doctor Sun stands up straight and quiet. Hancock and Fahrenheit stare at him expectantly. 

 

“I wish I had good news,” he says.

 

Hancock avoids looking him in the eye. “Get to the point.”

 

Doctor Sun cleared his throat. He’s never comfortable delivering this kind of news. “Well, I can’t always tell what’s wrong, but I can always tell when it’s something I can’t fix,” he says. “Any treatment would be invasive, and in his current condition, he would not survive. Yet, because of his current condition, he will not survive without treatment. There’s no easy way to say this, but these are fatal wounds.”

 

Fahrenheit glances at Hancock. He looks frozen in time. It doesn’t seem like he’ll be back for a bit, so she takes the reigns. 

 

“How much time do we have?” She asks. 

 

“That’s difficult to say,” Doctor Sun says. “It’s a matter of hours. Days, if you’re lucky.”

 

Fahrenheit is visibly shocked. “Hours? You’ve gotta be shitting me,” she says. She stands up, as if to confront him, but she’s not really angry. She just needs something to blame.

 

“Yes, I mean hours,” Doctor Sun restates. “It could be tonight. If not, it will be the night after that. I won’t mince words with you.”

 

“And I don’t want you to!” Fahrenheit yells, getting in his face. He shrinks away, but she doesn’t come any closer. “...Sorry,” she says with a sigh, “I’m just upset.”

 

Doctor Sun nods and straightens out his coat. “I understand. It’s a difficult situation.” He looks at Hancock, who for the first time in a while, looks back at him. “Very difficult.”

 

Hancock rubs his hands down his face. “So,” he says, “What are we supposed to do now?” He sounds empty. 

 

Sun stops to think, but can only give him a shrug in response. “That’s your prerogative. I would advise you to make sure he’s comfortable. Safe. Stay by his side. But what you do from here is your choice.”

 

Hancock nods. “Alright.”

 

He wraps his arms around Nate and goes to pick him up. Before Fahrenheit goes to help, she digs through her pockets and fishes out about twelve caps. She hands them to Doctor Sun. “It’s what I’ve got,” she says. “Thank you.”

 

He nods and pockets them. It’s not much, but he didn’t feel like he deserved much more. 

 

**A short walk to the end of the road,**

 

They know they don’t have time to get back to Goodneighbor, so they'd have to find lodging in town, at the Dugout Inn.

 

The place buzzes with activity as soon as they enter, and Yefim rushes them into a room so fast that Hancock barely has time to pay him. They can't tell if he just wants them out of sight, or if he's truly concerned. Either way, the speedy service is appreciated.

 

Soon they settle into their arrangement. Fahrenheit stands outside the door, gun in hand, making evil eyes at everyone around her. Hancock sits on the edge of the bed while Nate sleeps. All he can do is hold him and hope it doesn’t hurt too much.

 

Some time later, Fahrenheit knocks on the door. “I’ve got a message.”

 

“Shoot,” Hancock says.

 

“Nick Valentine says he’s hoping everything’ll be okay.”

 

“Tell him it won’t be.”

 

Fahrenheit looks back at the old synth. “He says thanks.”

 

**On your deathbed,**

 

You know that feeling, when you stretch and yawn and your whole body tingles? That’s exactly how you feel now, except you’ve barely moved in hours.

 

You notice that everything feels a bit more comfortable. You’re not breathing much, but it feels like you have enough air. Your heartbeat is getting slower, but it feels normal. Your brain is fogging up by the second, but you’re still aware that you’re dying. 

 

It doesn’t hurt, physically. Emotionally, it's a different matter. You’re a little mixed up, but not so much so that you don’t realize what you’re leaving behind.

 

Piper, Nick, Preston, Codsworth—Hancock. That’s just the people you’re closest to. There are so many other people you know you’ll miss terribly. It hurts already to think about it.

 

“How’re ya feeling?” Hancock says. He puts the back of his hand on your face. You can tell it’s colder than he hoped.

 

You want to answer him, but your mouth isn’t doing what your brain wants. All you do is stare. He understands.

 

“You don’t need to say anything,” he says. His smile looks tired.

 

You refuse to accept that. You do need to say something. Anything. You can’t leave him with nothing. So you try to communicate without speaking.

 

You put all your strength into shaking your hands. Not much, only a shiver of movement. Hancock quickly notices.

 

“Are you cold?” He says, grabbing your hands. You grab back harder. He looks surprised. You pull his arms down toward your chest, and then you go limp. As your vision starts to fade, Hancock holds you close.

 

“Don’t try to hang on longer than you need to. I’m ready,” Hancock says. He pauses. It’s hard for him to speak. “We’ll be fine back here.”

 

That’s the last thing you ever hear. Before you can realize it, the incomprehensible happens. 

 

You’re just sort of gone. 

 

**The first minutes of a new world,**

 

Hancock has been counting the seconds between Nate’s breathing. He doesn’t give up until he gets to 300.

 

“Fahrenheit,” he says.

 

“What’s up?”

 

“It’s done.”

 

“Oh.” She pauses. “Fuck. Alright.” She’s the quietest she’s ever been.

 

Silence seems to permeate Diamond City.

 

“I wasn’t ready,” Hancock says. He sounds changed.

 

Fahrenheit nods. “Nobody was.”

  
  


**Preparations,**

 

If Hancock had his way, he would sit there with Nate forever, but he knows that can’t be. They have to do something with the body, have a makeshift Commonwealth funeral.

 

They cover Nate’s body with a blanket carry him out. His skin is cold and waxy in their hands.

 

The Dugout is completely still when they walk through. No one knows what to do. Do we look at them? What faces do we make? Are we supposed to say anything?

 

Shock hits the city in waves as they walk through. Piper rushes Nat into the Publick Occurrences building. Ellie sprints to the detective agency with tears in her eyes.

 

Outside, Carla’s waiting for them, like she said she’d be. She’s reliable for a Commonwealth trader. 

 

She snuffs out her cigarette when she sees them. “Things didn’t work out, huh?” She says. There’s almost sympathy in her voice.

 

“You could say that,” Fahrenheit says. They start to load Nate onto the brahmin. 

 

“Where am I dropping you two off?” She says. 

 

“Well, we haven’t discussed where the ‘funeral’ will be—” Fahrenheit begins.

 

“Sanctuary,” Hancock cuts in. His hands are shaking as he reaches for the jet in his pocket. “We’ll bury him in Sanctuary. Executive decision.”

 

Fahrenheit pauses, then nods and looks back to Carla. “Then I guess we’ll be going to Sanctuary.”

 

“Convenient for me,” she says. “Let’s get going.”

 

**Homecoming,**

 

“Hey, Preston!” Sturges shouts from across town. “It’s Carla!”

 

Preston perks up at the at the words, along with most of the Minutemen. It takes a moment for them to realize how poorly things had gone. 

 

The way Hancock and Fahrenheit were flanking each other. Their tired eyes. 

 

And of course, the body. 

 

“Oh god. Hancock, I’m so sorry,” Preston says awkwardly, approaching the sad troupe.

 

Hancock shakes his head. “You don’t have to be sorry. I’m not special.” He glances over the small crowd of Minutemen. “You all lost him too.”

 

As they pass through town, the Minutemen trail behind them. It’s a sort of impromptu funeral procession.

 

“I knew this was gonna happen. I never told anyone I saw it, but I sure saw it,” Mama Murphy mutters to Preston. “I just hope he was comfortable.”

 

Preston nods. “I hope so too.”

 

**The end,**

 

They bury him at the big oak tree in the cul-de-sac. Everyone pitches in to dig the grave.

 

A funeral is something of a pre-war concept. No one really knows how one is supposed to go. Nate certainly would’ve, but what use is that now.

 

It hurts to bury him, knowing it’ll be the last time anyone would get to see him in the flesh. But it hurts even worse to look at him. He looks different. He looks wrong. 

 

He looks dead.

 

After the burial, everyone seems lost. Stories are told, regrets are muttered, tears are shed, but mostly, there’s silence

 

Eventually, people drift back to their stations, busying themselves with work. Hancock and Fahrenheit say their thank you’s to Carla and the Minutemen and take their leave.

 

Within a couple days, it’s business as usual. Not because they don’t care, or because it doesn’t hurt, but because in the Commonwealth, death is a fact of life. There isn't time to mourn.

 

Even for the most important person in the world.

 

**And what came after,**

 

The Commonwealth felt different without the Vault Dweller. A unique love had been lost. The world he had created was packed away, and a new one began.

 

But he and what he did were never truly forgotten. Especially by those who mattered most. 

 

General Garvey led the Minutemen the best he could, and though he faltered, he never fell. The legacy of General Nate’s Minutemen was continued proudly through the Commonwealth.

 

The Railroad paid their respects to the agent that saved their organization. His name was synonymous with excellence, justice, and the goals of the Railroad.

 

And Goodneighbor.

 

Hancock was really who defined Goodneighbor. When he was happy, the people were happy. When he was angry, the people were angry. And, when he came home from Sanctuary, and he was mourning, Goodneighbor mourned by his side.

 

The citizens of Goodneighbor were a tough breed of people. They’d all experienced death and worse, and it didn’t wound them anymore. While it hurt to lose the affectionately nicknamed “First Lady”, they recovered.

 

Most of them, at least.

 

Hancock was never the same. He was quiet, he stayed in the State House. He faded further and further into the background of Goodneighbor and the Commonwealth.

But he never stopped fighting for freedom and justice, and safety for his people. Goodneighbor remained a haven of blessing for outcasts and sinners.

 

Because he knew that no matter how much he lost, he couldn't lose the values that defined him. 

 

Nate would hate it if he did.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hey! If you liked this, why not check out my Fallout 4 writing blog! 
> 
> fo4-reactions-n-prompts.tumblr.com
> 
> I take requests, and I'd be more than happy to take yours. :)


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